Oil & Water
by Emiliya Wolfe
Summary: Severus Snape thinks that this year's batch of first years will be just like any other: annoying, insolent brats. He was wrong. It was worse. But as the year goes by, he begins to wonder - has he finally misjudged one of his students? Written for Hogwarts: Arts & crafts task 10 - write about a bubbly and cheerful person.


QL prompt: Boggart - Write about someone who is a nightmare to be around/work with.

...

Severus Snape swept his gaze over the new batch of criminally undereducated children. Why wizarding education didn't start much earlier in life, he would never know. What he did know was that thanks to this policy, he had a thousand bad habits to break before he could even consider the potential of the brats.

He wasn't optimistic.

If only Albus wouldn't insist on pairing Gryffindor and Slytherin together, then he might have a little peace and quiet. _Oh well_ , he thought. _At least the first years haven't built up an enmity yet_. Plus, their innocent faces reminded him of his own at that age, during happier times.

He shook his head. Reminiscing only brought pain. And not one of these students would show an ounce of his and Lily's potential.

'You are here not for foolish wand-waving and flashy light shows, but to understand the one of the deeper sciences of the wizarding world…'

* * *

Colin Creevey tucked a wayward blond curl behind his ear, absently noting that his mother had been right about him needing a haircut before the start of the school term. In all the excitement, the family had completely forgotten about that triviality.

He made a mental note to ask the Prefect where to go, and promptly forgot all about it, entranced with his newest class. They were all wicked, all amazing, but he thought Potions might be best of all. It was exactly what he and Dennis had thought magic would involve, back when they were kids and created mixtures from shampoo, olive oil and toothpaste.

As he followed his classmates back from the supply cupboard, he wondered why the Gryffindors had warned them about Professor Snape. Sure, he was a bit grouchy, and sure, he docked a lot of points, but points were a concept whose significance was beyond Colin's comprehension and besides, Harry Potter was one of the grouchiest people he had met, and he was a hero!

'Those roots are sloppily chopped, Creevey,' Snape told him as he glided by. With a flick of his wand, he _Vanished_ them. 'Start again. Roots as thick as yourself will turn your potion to mulch.'

'Yes, sir!' Colin replied with a grin, laughing at the implied joke. He enthusiastically brought his ruler out of his bag and began measuring his ingredients into exact one inch squares.

Instead of carrying on, as the professor had done when correcting his classmates, Snape paused, hovering on the edge of Colin's vision. Colin wondered if he had a bit of a cold. He was certainly breathing out of his nose very loudly.

'Sir?' he asked brightly. 'Would you like a handkerchief?' He had learned early on that tissues didn't work at Hogwarts.

This time, Snape exhaled out of his mouth. He must really need to blow his nose.

'One point from Gryffindor. No cheek next time.'

Colin frowned, confused. He was sure he had added the tongue of a toad into the potion, not the cheek. Still, better safe than sorry. Once Snape had moved on, looking at Colin's handkerchief in disgust, he dumped his potion and started again, making sure he had the proper ingredients this time. He couldn't wait to see how it would turn out!

* * *

'Today, you will be learning the simple, but useful recipe for a Forgetfulness Potion,' Severus intoned, flicking his wand at the blackboard. Instructions appeared in cursive, and he settled himself down at the desk to mark a few essays. There were no dangers involved in the process of making Forgetfulness Potions, and he could do with some rest after Longbottom's third melted potion of the month.

'Professor?' a chirpy voice asked.

Severus groaned. He had forgotten that this afternoon's class involved _that_ particular nightmare of a first-year.

He slowly raised his head to glare at the blond-haired individual in the too-big robes. Two months into the school year, he had learned by now that the glare was ineffective, but it was cathartic all the same. When he thought he had his irritation under control — at least enough to avoid raising his voice and ruining his reputation — he gave leave for the boy to speak.

'What is it now, Creevey?'

He hadn't intended the sneer over the boy's name to quite match the one reserved for Potter, but such was life.

'Does it really make you forget _everything?_ '

'Everything for the last half an hour, Mr Creevey,' he replied, deeming the question worthy of a response. After all, the introductory book given to first-years did not specify the varying degrees of potency, only the basic instructions.

'What if you take it twice, does it make you forget everything for the last hour?'

'No, Mr Creevey, that would result in a trip to the Hospital Wing for overdose.'

'What happens if the water from the River Lethe is distilled? Does the potion become more potent then?'

Severus couldn't take it any longer.

'Detention, Mr Creevey,' he finally snapped. 'For being an insufferably nosy parker.'

There was a small pause in which Severus's ears strained, just waiting to hear that high-pitched noise grating on his sensibilities. Then the moment passed, and all he could hear was the quiet sound of potions being stirred and powder being sprinkled.

At the end of the class, Creevey came up to him with a vial full of a perfect persimmon liquid that made him feel a little light-headed. Severus blinked, sitting up straight, and peered into Creevey's eyes, wondering if he had asked an older classmate to brew it for him. But those round blue eyes blinked back with such an look of innocence that he didn't even bother using Legilimency.

Overcome by a pique of generosity, Severus opened his mouth to issue a point to Gryffindor, only to be interrupted by, 'Don't you think that the instructions of four mistletoe berries are rather vague? Should the berries be big, small, medium? Should they be red and ripe, or picked early?'

The warm sensation left and Severus stood up with his books, prepared to follow it out.

'Five points from Gryffindor.'

* * *

Colin sat in the middle of the storeroom, frowning. Professor Snape had set him to reorganising the shelves — some ingredients had been mislabelled, and some had simply disappeared — and making an inventory of what needed stocking up on.

He didn't mind the task. He didn't have much else to do; all the Prefects but Percy Weasley now ignored his questions, and Harry Potter and Hermione Granger were always busy. He didn't get on too well with the other kids in his dormitory; they were a bit too studious for him. He wondered why they hadn't been put in Ravenclaw since they kept telling him to be quiet because they were studying.

The only problem was, Colin didn't know what most of the ingredients looked like. Well, the only problem aside from the fact that Colin kept getting sidetracked by the potions book that was supposed to help him with their identification. Each new potion had him daydreaming of the day he would brew the perfect Hiccoughing Solution — or _oh_ , the Draught of the Living Dead!

He imagined Harry Potter getting Petrified and coming across the scene at just the right moment. He would heroically pull out a bottle of shining purple, no, _gold_ liquid, which would cause the Petrification to magically disappear just as Professor Snape and Professor McGonagall walked in. They would cheer as Harry told Colin that he had just saved his life and that Colin was _Harry's_ hero. And then they would be best friends and —

'Mr Creevey!'

Colin jumped, nearly knocking over a tub of Gillyweed.

'Yes, sir?' he asked, disoriented at being knocked out of his daydream.

Professor Snape's eyes swept critically over the shelves, only a quarter filled, the rest of the ingredients strewn across the room.

'Discipline is not something to be taken lightly.' The professor's lips pursed. He seemed angry, but Colin thought he was maybe just being stern. After all, he had been set a very important task. 'Detention, again, this time tomorrow. And you will be responsible for explaining to your classmates why the next class will be theoretical.' The lips curled. 'If the stockroom is out of commission for the rest of the week, I will remove twenty points from Gryffindor.'

Colin gasped, shocked at the amount of points Professor Snape was willing to remove.

'Yes, sir,' he said, nodding solemnly. He couldn't believe the professor was leaving such a monumental task up to him! As he left to catch the last minutes of dinner, he found himself imagining the look on the older students' faces as they profoundly thanked him for preventing potion mishaps due to mislabelled ingredients.

So enraptured was he in his daydream that he didn't notice the faint look of irritation that swept over the Potions Master's features.

* * *

Severus looked over at the first year studiously pickling rats' brains in vinegar. Colin Creevey was a strange one. He hadn't complained once about receiving detention, and whilst at first Severus had thought that it was part of an elaborate joke, he was beginning to rethink his earlier assumptions.

After a few minutes, Severus realised he couldn't focus on the essay in front of him. He turned it over and scrawled a large "P" over the top of the first page. It was probably what it was worth anyway. He glanced at the Creevey boy again, who was now staring at the large clock ticking on the wall. He opened his mouth to issue a reprimand when he heard the boy call under his breath, 'Five!'

The boy then unscrewed the jar before him and used a pair of tweezers to lay the brains out on a sheet of parchment, allowing the excess moisture to drip off before he shook them into the containers used for next week's classes.

The Gryffindor was a nightmare. He asked too many questions, most of them intrusive, all of them ridiculous, and he was so naive that Severus rolled his eyes at least eight times per class. But he brewed his potions to precision and took care of the less glamorous parts of the profession more seriously than most potioneers.

Something tinged Severus's heart. Something sharp, painful. Something he hadn't felt in a long time, and certainly not for a Gryffindor student.

Pride.

* * *

Seven months later, Severus stood with Poppy Pomfrey as she issued the last of the Mandrake solution to the Petrified schoolchildren.

'They won't wake for a few hours yet,' she told Severus, bustling over to change Hermione Granger's sheets. 'You can head over to the end-of-year feast now. Nothing's going to change before then, I assure you.'

'It matters not,' Severus replied shortly. 'It was my potion and my responsibility. You will need me here if any issues occur.'

Poppy gave him one of her looks, as if she knew that it was a load of codswallop. Severus hadn't brewed an incorrect potion since the tender age of seventeen, and only then because James Potter had nudged extra bat guano into his cauldron. Still, she said nothing, and for that, Severus was thankful.

He settled himself in the corner of the room, opening Flourish & Blotts' latest textbook for corrections. He knew the potion was perfectly brewed, that Poppy was an expert in her field.

But the world would be all the dimmer if it lost the innocence of the little blond boy lying in the bed in the corner.


End file.
